I Probably Deserve Ths
by WonderingWhale
Summary: (POST END 1 2) Tord tries to find the right way to say he's sorry for everything he did, but really, who could forgive someone after that? Did anyone have forgiveness to give him anymore?


"Are you sure about this? You can always change your mind now, and we'll head back to the house. We could always try again later." He sounded hopeful, worrying for the man who'd saved him what seemed like ages ago.

"Positive." Even with being certain he would go and confront them again, his voice quivered, and his legs and hands shook with each small movement. He was terrified, yet thought this was the right thing to do.

"Well. If you say you can do it, I have faith in you, Tord."

The norwegian smiled back at his pilot, friend, and supporter, thanking him for agreeing to take him when no one else thought it was a good idea whatsoever.

"Thank you. I'll sure need it…" Tord got out of the red car, shutting the door as quietly as he possibly could, whilst still somehow slamming it.

He walked up the path to the tall building, turning back only for a moment, to see Paul, and Patryk staring back at him, willing him to go on, and hoping for the absolute best.

Tord exhaled, and turned back to face the apartments, seeing his awful reflection in the first window of the building, frowning in disgust at himself.

Many red, white, and pink scars striped across the left side of his face, his left eye literally sewn shut and swollen almost 24/7. His arm was bandaged, and scarred the same as his face was, and would probably never heal anytime soon. Or ever.

He had the option to get it amputated, but denied it over, and over again, until everyone gave up asking him for his opinion, and compromised to at least give him painkillers and bandages for the time being.

Ever since the "accident", he had been feeling so much regret, and guilt, making him have the same nightmare every single night since then. The red army practically fell apart seeing their own leader, near-death, and bleeding out from the face, and arm.

Everyone frantically tried to help him, but he didn't want anyones pity, or really anyone now. He didn't want to get attached to anyone at the moment. He didn't want anybody to get hurt anymore.

Thought he would never say it, Tord loved his friends like his own flesh and blood. Edd, a cola and cat lover, would always have your back, stood up for his friends, and yet still managed to be extremely emotional, and caring. Matt, narcissistic, and freakishly tall ginger, always seemed to be in an optimistic mood, but could get angry very easily, if you talked trash about him, his looks, or his friends. Though he wasn't very intimidating, he was still probably taller than most people, and that sometimes scared them off. And of course, Tom. A depressed alcoholic, who was in desperate need of a hug once in awhile, never seemed to smile, unless Edd was in the general vicinity. Everyone always tried to include Tom, to maybe help him be at least slightly more cheerful, but sometimes just cracking a bad joke made him laugh easily.

He loved all of them, thought they were all a little bit quirky. Tord chuckled a little bit, thinking to himself that he was indeed unique too.

The norwegian shook his head, to clear his mind, and kept walking forward, slowing down as he inched closer. He was terrified of what they would say to him.

What would he say? Tord didn't think this far into the plan. He didn't need to think of a speech did he? Would saying a simple "I'm sorry" fix things?

He thought not, swallowed his fears, opened the door, and walked up the stairs to the apartment number he got off of Paul. Not questioning where he got the information.

Tord got to the door, and looked at the number, confirming with himself that this was indeed the place to go.

Number 118. Never in his life had he ever felt this scared, his body shaking so much he could've fallen over at any given time.

He thought over words to say, and didn't know, inhaling, and exhaling in a rhythmic pattern.

Breathing in deeply, he brought up his hand into a fist, and slammed on the door, almost chickening out at the last second, before the wooden door opened slowly, revealing a slightly shorter man, in a green hoodie.

Then there was a hard pressure across his face, then sudden pain shooting across his cheek, making him cry out, and fall onto the carpeted floor of the lobby, bleeding, while the man stood over him, his fist still clenched tightly, in position if the hurting norwegian tried to move, act, or even do anything at this point.

He managed out a few words, from his angle on the ground, shifting over to face his friend, and opening his good eye to look at him.

"I don't mean anything to you now, I know. But I'm sorry."

Edd put his hands down, and silently gave Tord a real terrifying death stare, walking back into the apartment, shutting the door, almost all the way, whispering a faint, and swift message.

"You don't deserve this but…" Edd sighed, and looked down at the floor, one hand still on the door knob. "Come back tomorrow at around noon. We need to talk."

And with that, he shut the door, leaving Tord with a bruise forming on his cheek, and blood dripping onto the floor.


End file.
